


blink if you like me

by cowboykillers



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Bisexuals, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7071385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykillers/pseuds/cowboykillers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders doesn't know how to flirt, and Hawke's getting real sick of his friends being assholes. </p>
<p>That waiter is pretty cute, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blink if you like me

**Author's Note:**

> posting this here from my tumblr, because why not put everything in one place! i may do more in this universe later, may not. cheers for awkward modern handers!

“I brought you more ice for your tea.”  


Hawke pauses with his tea halfway to his mouth, expression settling into bemused lines as a vaguely nervous-looking man offers a mug full to the brim of ice cubes, shaking it from side to side in an unasked question. Across the booth, Isabela’s eyebrows climb swiftly in time with her smile, and beneath the table, she kicks at Hawke’s ankle, hard.

He startles, tossing her an affronted look, and lowers his mug of tea to the table. “Thanks?”

The blond man smiles, setting the offered ice on the table, and takes a step back. “I wasn’t sure if you – but, there you are.”

Hawke watches him go, angling his head after him, and then dismisses the strange incident entirely with a wave of his hand. “Someone else must’ve asked for some ice, and he got confused. He’s not even our waiter.”

Expression caught somewhere between glee and exasperation, Isabela leans over and flicks her balled up straw wrapper at him. “Sure, Hawke. That’s definitely what happened.”

—

Bracing his hands against the counter-top, Anders lowers his head with a gusty sigh, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I’ve made a _fool_  of myself.”

Entirely unsympathetic, Varric reaches out to pat his upper arm, replying cheerfully, “Sure did, Blondie.” as he skirts around him to snag an order slip.

“He’s not even in my section,” Anders adds, swinging his head to pin Varric with a soulful look. “They come in all the time, and he _never_  sits in my section. How is that possible?”  


“Divine punishment,” Varric answers promptly, smacking his hand against the wall. “Broody, you ever gonna get me that chicken parm? Not getting any younger over here.”

The only response from the back is something rude in Tevene, and Anders sighs, rolling his eyes heavenward. “I’m a good person,” he mutters, snagging the burger and fries slid his way. “I deserve nice things.”

Varric just grins at him, and Anders sails out of the kitchen, pointedly not looking at the attractive man at table seventeen.

—

“Oops,” Isabela crows, deliberately knocking Hawke’s entire bundle of silverware on the floor, directly at the feet of the handsome blond waiter with the half-ponytail. “Clumsy me.”  


“Isabela,” Hawke grouses, leaning out of his booth to reach for the scattered utensils, at exactly the same time the other man ducks to do the same. Their fingers bump, and so do their heads – they snatch their hands back, leaving the mess on the floor, and there is an awkwardly long moment of silence.  


The waiter recovers first – Anders, Hawke notes, gaze flicking to his name tag briefly – with a smile and a self-conscious laugh. “That was graceful of me. Apologies. I’ll bring some fresh silverware by.”

“Not your fault,” Hawke argues, gaze cutting to Isabela, who is determinedly looking out the window to her left and draining her soda with admirable dedication. “Apparently, our table’s all thumbs today.”  


Anders flashes him a smile, a real one, and Hawke feels the first stirring of _interest_  when he promises, “I’ll be right back.” and ducks back into the kitchen.

—

“You trying to pinch my tip?”   


Varric furrows his brow at Anders, watching him stuff a few rolled up napkins, straws, and a fresh pencil into his generous apron pockets. The lunch rush is waning, but it’s been a long one, and he doesn’t _mind_ , per se, the idea of Anders taking on one of his tables.

He’s just amused by which one it is.

Anders purses his lips at him, offering one of the bundles without hesitation. “Table seventeen, if you want.”

Varric just waves his hand. “Nah, seems like _you_  want. I’m gonna take a fifteen, cover me?”

“That’s not really–” He inhales, exhales, and squares his shoulders. “–of course. I know what you’re doing, by the way.”  


Tossing his apron on a shelf, Varric grins. “So, you’re welcome.”

—

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hawke intones, and Isabela leans across the table, wagging her eyebrows at him. “And obvious. I’m embarrassed for both of us.”  


“He’s cute,” she argues, rolling her straw between her fingers, and leers at him. “And you need to get laid. I have it on good authority–”  


Her phone pings, and she flips it over to read the text, expression growing more delighted by the second. Hawke tries to lean over to read it, but she weaves, tucking it close to her chest.

“–that he’s _very_  single,” she finishes, tapping a quick response, likely with far too many emojis. “And very bisexual.”  


“I don’t want to know how you know that,” he sighs, and she locks her phone, pointedly putting it face-down on the table again.   


“I know everything,” she says lightly, grinning when Anders sidles up to their table, setting down not only silverware but a fresh mug of peach tea for Hawke. “Thanks, cutie. The service here is _excellent_. So attentive.”  


Anders’ gaze bounces between the two of them, and his smile becomes a little self-conscious. “Can I get you anything else?”

Isabela opens her mouth, but before she can say anything damning, Hawke talks straight over the top of her. “I think we’re fine. Thank you, Anders.”

The waiter’s eyes widen in brief surprise, and Hawke can’t help but answer the silly, lightning-quick smile with one of his own. 

“Well, if you need anything, just let me know.”  


—

Pointing a slender, accusing finger at Varric, Anders instructs, “You’re cashing them out. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for a lifetime.”

Varric spares him a brief glance, focused intently on his phone, and simply shrugs. “Sure.”

Slowly lowering his hand, Anders eyes him speculatively. “I feel like that was too easy.”

Rolling his eyes, Varric tucks his phone into his back pocket. “Can you cut the paranoia out for five minutes? I’ll get register if you go clear tables.”

The handsome man and his gorgeous friend are approaching, bill in hand, so Anders commits to his retreat.

He doesn’t _think_  he’s made a grievous mistake, but it’s too late to be worried about it anyhow.

—

Isabela is leaning over the counter, tapping her nail on the glass above daintily decorated cakes, as Varric rings them up and chats amiably. It’s Hawke’s turn to buy, so he passes his card over and assures that the food was good, service was fine – the usual.

“Glad you had a good time,” Varric says, far too innocently, as his eyes meet Isabela’s. “Give me a sec, and I’ll have a copy of your receipt.”  


“I don’t need one,” Hawke insists, folding his wallet up, but Varric is sliding a piece of paper at him anyway.  


“Oh, you’re gonna want this one.”  


—

Outside, Hawke unfolds the paper, groaning at the hastily scrawled name and phone number.

“Text him,” Isabela demands, eyes dancing.  


“Maybe.” He folds the paper up, tucking it in his pocket, and tosses her a helmet. “I’ll think about it.”  


“If you don’t, I will,” she mutters, swinging a leg over his bike and settling behind him.  


—

Two days later, in a strangled voice, Anders demands, “Did you give a customer my phone number? _Varric_?”

With a belly-deep laugh, Varric ducks out of the kitchen, and Anders stares down at his phone.

_Want to get a coffee sometime? (This is Hawke, by the way. Varric gave me your number. Hope I’m not overstepping.)_

He covers his face with his free hand, skin hot under his palm, and taps out a reply one-handed.

_Sure. Ice is on me._

Two plates hit the service counter, followed by Fenris’ pointed look, and Anders slides his phone into his apron pocket and tries to will the flush out of his cheeks.

The next time he gets to check his phone, his heart flips somewhere down into his stomach, and doesn’t even mind the smug, knowing looks Varric tosses him for the rest of his shift.

_It’s a date_.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me at [antivanfishwife](http://antivanfishwife.tumblr.com) and toss me dragon age prompts if you want.


End file.
